He managed to keep them trapped inside, but one thing he couldn’t do was keep his eyes off that mouth.
She noticed, too. He could tell by the hitch in her breathing, the way her pulse slammed against the fragile wall of her throat. Curious, he reached out and pressed a finger against it.
He could very well be doing the stupidest thing he’d ever done.
Her lids drooped and her head slumped, angling slightly to the side. He skimmed his finger down lower, tracing the elegant line of her collarbone. “I’ve had days like that,” he said softly. “Days where the last place I want to be is inside my own head.”
He lowered his hand.
She lifted her head and met his gaze dead-on.
He started to turn away.
“How late do you work?”